Darkness and Light
by Twyla Mercedes
Summary: Belle, a talented researcher, works with the Ancients' language at the Icarus station & encounters the difficult scientist Nicholas Rush. Fascinated but too unsure of herself to approach the man, she learns that all on board Destiny are doomed as the ship is propelled headlong into a star. Facing certain death, she finds herself at his door with a desperate proposition.


**Darkness and Light**

**This story occurs during Episode Five (Light) as Destiny is on a perilous collision course with a star. Fifteen people have been selected by lottery to be saved; the rest of the crew expect to be incinerated along with the starship. They are waiting for The End.**

Belle had never felt this nervous.

This was worse than when she had defended her dissertation.

_Two dried up library science stuffed shirts and one linguistics 'expert' who looked down on her because she had spent her time with Ancient, drawing out its parallels to several extinct languages and proposing a translation dictionary. _

_She always felt she'd only gotten her degree because none of them understood what she was talking about but didn't want anyone else on the committee to know that. _

This was worse than when she had broken things off with Gary.

"_But you've set a date! Invitations have been sent out! Presents are coming in! You've selected a china pattern! He's such a catch! What are you thinking!"_

_No one, no one, except maybe Rubes had understood. _

_Good ole Ruby, her best friend since seventh grade. Ruby was right there with a bottle Apothic Red and a 27 piece boxed set of dark Godiva chocolates_.

This was worse than when she'd told her father that she was going out to work on the Icarus Project.

"_Darling, are you sure this is what you want to do? Don't make any hasty decisions. You'll be so far away from civilization. Will you be able to continue your work?"_

_Bless his heart. She knew her dad loved her and would be terribly lonely if she went away. _

_But she'd had to get away. It was the best way for her to deal with breaking off the engagement, by continuing her work._

_And to be sure, Icarus had actually sought her out, coming to her door, one man in a high ranking military uniform, the other in a black suit with dark glasses. _

She'd gone and thrown herself into the project, expanding on her original dictionary. With Icarus's resources she had been able to triple the number of translated words within six months. She'd enjoyed the work.

Then she had met him.

It had happened in passing. She was sitting in the cafeteria enjoying the best of companions, a good book. She had sat in a corner and had set up several books around herself, like a wall designed to keep out other would-be dining companions.

At the table next to her the other group, she had recognized them as the civilian scientists working on the Stargate math, had all sat down. She wasn't an eavesdropper but the exchanges were loud and hard to ignore.

She'd heard of _him_, of course. The brilliant Dr. Nicholas Rush. Some of his own staff had insisted he get something to eat as he was being more of an asshole _their word _ than usual. Cigarettes, coffee, and, as a last ditch effort, food sometimes managed to restore his mood to a more balanced level. Apparently this time that hadn't happened. From her vantage at the next table she could hear him, tearing holes in each and every idea that his team was putting forth and then he set forth tearing holes in them. One of them, exasperated, had suggested he come up with an idea.

And he had, right there off the top of his head, spouted several ideas. He'd given each member of his team a task to work on, causing them to scurry away like scalded cats. He had been left alone in the cafeteria and at some point had noticed her cool regard.

"Do you always talk to your staff like that?" she had ventured a comment.

"They're idiots. If you combined their brains they might be able to do a long division problem," he'd spat out. He'd risen and came over to her table and sat down.

_She hadn't expected that. She knew he was looking her over as he might an intriguing math formula, coldly and heartlessly. She was interesting only as a puzzle to be solved . . . and, once solved, to be cast aside._

_Well what did she expect from the man? She was certainly looking him over. Lithe, slender with lean muscle. Intense, the intelligence radiating from every pore, the sheer force of his personality wafting over her in waves. _

He began picking up books from one of her little piles. "Stupid, ill-informed, never heard of it," he gave a quick review of each the top three books she had with her. It was then that he got to her dictionary. She hadn't realized she'd set it out.

He picked it up and she became aware that she was holding her breath.

"Now the bloke that wrote this had a brain," he told her. "If he were able to do math, I'd get him on my team." He read the author's name, "I. L. French, bloody genius."

And then he'd set the book back down and had gotten up and left.

She'd sat stunned after the brief encounter.

She'd become aware while he was talking with her that her heart rate had increased, her nipples had hardened and she had gotten embarrassingly wet between her thighs.

Now that had been unexpected. _What was wrong with her? The man was an arrogant dick._

After that she'd looked him up. _Nicholas Rush. Glasgow born, PhD from Oxford, taught at Cornell and the University of California, married, now widowed, no children._

Those were the simple facts. Reading between the lines, she surmised that he was brilliant, egotistical, smug and from what she could see, absolutely driven. Definitely Nobel Prize in-the-making material. There was nothing in his life except his work.

Perhaps related to the death of his wife, she'd surmised. She'd found her picture. Wow. She had been gorgeous. A concert violinist.

Belle had shaken her head. However had those two gotten together?

She'd watched him after that whenever she got the chance. He was a chain smoker, a caffeine addict, and typically slept less than four hours a night. He often forgot to eat and would wear the same clothes for days. There was nothing else in his life but his work.

She'd kept telling herself not to look twice at the man. She'd just gotten out of one dysfunctional relationship. What would she need with another?

But she kept going back to him, drawn to his energy, his passion, his genius. She would try to catch him in the cafeteria. She would find a reason to do some research in the computer section, sitting off on the side where she could watch him concentrate. How sexy could a man be just concentrating?– well, pretty darn sexy.

Then she had begun having erotic dreams with him as the guest star. In the first one, he'd taken her across the computer work table where he spent most of his time, pulling off her pants and opening his fly to press against her, roughly, casually fucking her. She'd awakened with a delicious throbbing all through her body.

In another dream they'd been in the cafeteria and he'd pushed her to her knees and had her service him right there as crew and others attended to their meals ignoring her sucking him off. She had awakened from that dream so aroused that she'd had to use her fingers to finish herself off.

She had tried to shake the dreams off recognizing that she had no current outlet for her sexual tension and telling herself that she had developed an unhealthy obsession with a man who was clearly not available. She had tried to substitute regular exercise . . . and cold showers . . . and thrown herself into her own work.

But the dreams kept coming. Sometimes he'd come to her room and make love to her, slowly and gently. Sometimes he'd just order her to drop her pants and he'd use her body as a receptacle to relieve his own needs. She'd wake up, her body aflame, her core heated after each of these . . . encounters.

If she thought for a moment that he had any interest – any interest – in her . . . but she doubted he had even given her a second glance, a second thought.

Then the attack came and everyone on the Icarus station had jumped through the worm hole, through the Stargate. She had jumped also, carrying only her backpack.

Of course, arriving on the Destiny had changed everything.

At first, she had been truly desperate. She knew she would likely never see her father again, never smell a rose, never get out of survival mode. But another part of her was thrilled. She was surrounded with Ancient, with the symbols. They were all over the ship. She had thrown herself back into her work, her work likely saving her sanity. She hadn't balked at the restrictions, the rationing, the paucity of anything that resembled comfort.

But now . . . now the ship was in a death spiral, the meager life support systems failing, the current trajectory taking them right into a star.

They were going to die.

Colonel Young had let them know and everyone who had not been part of the fifteen sent away to try to settle on the one Goldilocks planet in the system, had gone off to make their peace and prepare for the end.

She had made her decision and walked down the darkened hallways to his room. She had never felt this nervous.

At this moment she was standing outside of _his _door. She raised her hand to knock but stopped.

What if he told her to bugger off? What if he laughed? What if . . . ? What if . . .? Did he even remember her?

_Do the brave thing and bravery will follow, she told herself. _

So what if he ordered her out or laughed at her. When they were all dead in the next few hours, what would it matter?

But . . .

What if he was interested?

Somehow that might be scarier than him ordering her out.

She knocked.

There was no answer and she almost lost her nerve.

She knocked again and tried the door.

It opened.

"Dr. Rush?" she called.

"What?" Oh dear, he sounded peeved.

"It's Belle French. May I come in?"

There was no answer right away but then . . . "If you want."

She stepped inside his darkened room. He was sitting in his bed with his feet pulled up, shoes off, cradling a book.

_Oh dear lord, he's sitting in his bed._

He was clearly bewildered at her being there.

She had to say something. Anything.

"Some people are spending their last few hours praying," she finally said.

"If that helps them," he'd answered. Clearly it was not something that he found solace in.

"I'd rather spend my last few hours doing something . . ." _What? Something fun? Something naughty? Something slutty?_

She had begun pacing. "Listen. I'm very nervous and this is not easy, but if I'm going to die in just a little while, I'd like to do something I've been wanting to do but haven't had the nerve to."

"And that would be?" he clearly had no idea where she was going with this.

_Why should he? She probably sounded like she was ranting._

She had turned her back to him. "I find you . . . interesting." _No, not just interesting. Tell the man the truth. _"I find you . . . desirable." _There she'd said it. It was out. _

She turned back around to him. "Listen if you aren't interested, please just say that you are still mourning your wife and aren't comfortable having _that kind_ of relationship with any woman. That will help me preserve what little dignity I have left and I'll slink on out of here and we'll never speak of it again . . . not that we'll have much time to talk about it, as I understand things. . . " _Oh dear lord, she was rambling._

He looked like a spark of understanding had been ignited. "Are you seducing me?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she said. She managed to move her feet and take two steps in his direction.

"I would never have done this if I hadn't thought we were all about to die because I don't think I could live with it if you turned me down . . . or laughed at me . . . or if you were disgusted . . . or . . . "

He was giving her one of his rare smiles. "Why would I be disgusted that the most beautiful woman on board this ship thinks that she wants to sleep with me?"

_He thought she was beautiful?!_

He set the book down and gestured to her, "Come here, Belle isn't it?"

_Oh lord, he actually remembered her name. She hadn't expected that. But wait, she'd just told him.  
><em>

Still nervous, she took the next couple of steps so that now she was now standing next to the bed.

"Sit," he ordered and she complied settling herself on the corner of the bed.

"You sure about this?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I'm sure," she told him.

He gently reached over and pulled down her hair. "It's been awhile for me, you know. I'll need you to be gentle," he told her.

She smiled, "It's been awhile for me too." And she leaned over and planted a tentative kiss right on his lips.

Then his hand was in her hair, holding the back of her head as he spent some time exploring her mouth.

She'd had every intention of helping the man undress, but his kiss was making her dizzy and for the moment it was all she could do to hold on. He pulled back a moment and she could see that his pupils had fully dilated.

He was pulling on her t-shirt, tugging it up over her head to drop it next to the bed. She helped as she could and then reached over to do the same to him, but he stopped her. With her, now divested of the top layer of clothing, they stopped to kiss each other again.

She shifted to kiss along his chin and down his neck. He took advantage of the movement and unfastened her bra, pulling it down her arms and it too dropped on the floor. He pushed her back so that he could see her breasts, at first lightly tracing them with his fingers before cupping them into the palms of his hand. Her nipples had already hardened and he seemed pleased with this evidence of her arousal, her interest. He teased them with his thumbs.

"You are so beautiful," she heard him murmur. And he bent his head to take one of nipples into his mouth, tugging on it, teasing it unmercifully with his tongue. All the while he continued to caress and squeeze her other breast.

It was hard for her to stay focused but she managed to put her hand behind his head to hold him to her.

He shifted her so that she was now on the narrow bed lying alongside of him. He stopped a moment.

"Let's get these things off," and he began to remove her boots, her pants and her socks, leaving her only in her black sateen panties. "These too," he told her and she lifted herself so that she could pull them off. They joined the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

She reached for him, planning to help him remove his pants, but he stopped her. "I want to look at you first." She was well aware that he was still clothed while she was lying fully exposed to his gaze. She reflexively tried to cover up using her hands, but he stopped her.

"I want to look at you," he told her again and she closed her eyes unable to bear his intense scrutiny. One of his hands had drifted to her stomach. "Open your legs," he'd ordered her.

She did and his hand slowly drifted down between them. She wasn't sure if she should feel proud or ashamed at how wet she was.

He seemed quite pleased. "You must tell me what you like," he told her and began to use his fingers, his clever fingers, his magical fingers, his very capable fingers to arouse her further. He'd easily slipped between her folds and she felt it as he slipped one finger into her very ready passage. She intuitively squeezed around his finger and she heard him swear.

"Damn, you're tight. Feels good." And then he was kissing her again.

She was getting desperate, lifting herself, rubbing herself, anything, to stop his slow torture, to get on with it.

"Soon," he promised her _was he laughing?_ "Soon." And he pulled his hand away, leaving her unsatisfied.

She very nearly beat on his shoulder but he ignored her and shifted himself down so that he was kneeling between her legs.

"Open a little more for me," he told her. She hesitated. _Gary had never been one for this type of action and the few times he'd done it, he'd been rough and she'd discouraged him from any additional efforts. But . . . Nicholas seemed to know what he was doing._ She slowly shifted her legs.

He had noticed she had stiffened up when he had moved between her legs. She wasn't comfortable with this. _Some ham-fisted brute had no doubt tried but had bungled it. _ He smiled to himself. This should be fun. He started by kissing her thighs, not touching her directly but sometimes allowing his breath to graze her swollen clit. He worked his way closer in, quite satisfied at seeing how increasingly wet she was getting for him. She had gotten very still as if she was anticipating . . . something.

He moved in, inhaling her sweet fragrance. He used his fingers again, pushing in one, then two, scissoring them to stretch her out. He touched his lips to her labia, not moving, just allowing her to adjust to him. Then he flicked his tongue over her. He heard her gasp but she didn't pull away. He began again, flicking his tongue back and forth, pleased when she began to lift herself to him. He felt her hand on his head, her fingers entwining in his hair. He could hear her breathing was getting louder and shorter as if she was panting. When he felt she was ready, he latched onto her clit and gentle drew it into his mouth, gently pulling and sucking on her.

She screamed, her body jerking as she yielded to him.

He moved up her so that he was cradling her, with one hand holding a breast, while he kissed down her neck.

"That was incredible," she managed to say. _She'd realized in an instance that Gary had been an idiot. And she'd realized in an instance that her dreams had fallen far short of the reality of the man._

She felt energized and, now that he was on his back, she pulled at his shirts, the short-sleeved green and the long-sleeved white one, lifting them over his head. She took a moment to plant kisses on his chest. She was a bit surprised at herself having just had one prodigious orgasm that she was already eager for another. She was lying on top of him, trying to rub herself against his leg to get some friction.

But it wasn't enough.

She sat up and pulled at his pants, pulling his pants and his boxers down in one movement so that now he was as naked as she.

She had to stop a moment to admire him. "You are so beautiful," she repeated his words, her hand dropping to his engorged cock. She wrapped her hands around him, gently pumping him, teasing the head with her thumb, quite pleased to find moisture easing from him.

"You must tell me what you like," she told him with a smile and began kissing her way down his body. She took him into her mouth, at first just holding him, then suckling him. She was gratified to hear him moan and to feel his hand on her head holding her there.

Then "Enough," he told her gruffly. And he pulled her off.

She knew he was preparing to put her beneath him but she was determined to have him another way first. She clamored on top of him and keeping him on his back she settled herself on him, pulled up onto her knees, straddling him. She reached down to line him up and began to push herself down onto him.

It didn't happen right away and she nearly cried in frustration. Then he reached and took her by the hips, holding her in place while he surged up into her. She felt stretched and completely filled.

It was wonderful.

"Better now?" she heard him ask.

"Yes, yes," she'd managed to answer.

"Good."

Arrogant man. She could just see that smug look on his face. She'd had to take a moment to adjust to him and he damn well knew it, knew that he would be enough for her.

She pulled her knees in close to his body and began to rock back and forth against him. He caught her rhythm and would lift his body against hers, driving himself into her again and again.

He dropped a hand between them giving her another source of friction and too soon, she felt a familiar tightening and she lost herself to the sheer pleasure that washed over her.

She had stopped moving dropping down onto his chest. It took her a moment to realize that they were still joined, that he had not reached his pleasure. He still had his hands on her hips and was looking up at her.

"Beautiful, my dear." He sat up, moving his hands to hold onto her, carrying her and then pushing her back onto the bed, reversing their positions. He was lying on top of her. He lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist so that he was now rubbing against her still distended, still swollen clit. She clung to him, her hands on his back. He then started driving into her, hard and fast, over and over, taking her, possessing her.

"Come for me, my dear beautiful Belle," he whispered. "Come for me again."

And she screamed, her entire body shivering and quaking as she felt her womb contract and spasm.

Then she felt his life force spew into her in powerful spurts.

He collapsed on top of her, resting, occasionally giving her a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"A much better way to welcome the end, I think," she told him.

He pulled away from her and simply held her.

Their breathing had slowed when he spoke again. "What would you say if I told you that I didn't think we were going to die?" he asked her.

"What?!"

"I hardly think this ship has survived millenniums only to crap out just after we arrive. I think it's flying into this star to recharge its batteries. I think we're going to come out of this with more power than when we first got on the ship."

"What?!"

He sat up. "I should have probably told you before . . . before . . . I . . ." He hesitated. "I understand if you want to gather up your clothes and leave and never speak to me again. But. . . " he was struggling to get something out. "That time, that first time, after meeting you in the cafeteria, I looked you up. Imagine my surprise in finding out that _you_ were the bloody brilliant I. L. French. I found out that you had recently broken an engagement right before you came to work at Icarus, that you were currently unattached."

He paused for a moment before going on, "Belle, I've been having dreams about you since we met in the cafeteria, _intense _dreams, if you take my meaning. But I was too much of a coward to approach you. You are little Miss Sunshine. I mean, everyone likes you and you get along with everyone and I'm . . . well, I'm me. I'm a rather difficult man to love. I couldn't imagine that you'd want anything like a relationship with me. I had been lucky once. I couldn't imagine that I'd ever be so lucky again."

Belle had listened quietly lying on her back in his bed.

"I know I should have told you before, but I just wasn't strong enough to turn you down after you offered yourself," he continued. "You were a dream come true."

"You wanted me?" she asked trying to process what he was saying. "This was one of those situations that was just waiting for one of us to make the first move?"

"I guess. Are you mad much?" he asked, looking down on her.

"A little."

"Well, I would understand if you were mad . . . "

Belle interrupted him, "Think of all the time we've _wasted._ " And she pulled him back down into the bed.

**A.N. This is purely a one-shot. I have absolutely no intention on expanding this story. This vignette has been sitting in the hopper for some time and after reading several delicious Rushbelle stories (thank you emospritlet and CharlotteAshmore), I decided to set it free. -twyla **


End file.
